


Her Pet

by dreamsofspike



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:23:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9537770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: Summary: Illyria enjoys her sparring sessions with Spike -- but she is unsatisfied. Wesley is distant with her, and she is having a hard time understanding the new human-dominated world she's found herself in. Accidentally, she happens on something that creates an interest in her -- an interest in understanding other human (or vampire) sensations, besides pain. She wants to learn more about human touch, about human pleasure -- and she wants to learn from Spike.





	1. Chapter 1

  
  


“That’s it! I have had just about enough of your soddin’ mightier than thou attitude!”

 

The blond vampire snarled at the tall, straight female figure standing before him -- who appeared utterly unaffected by his building tirade. “I’ve told you again and again, you can *not* just punch me ‘cause you bloody well feel like it! This is a test of your abilities, your strengths and weaknesses and such -- that’s all! Not a chance for you to play a few relaxing rounds of ‘let’s get our jollies by beating the bloody stuffing out of the vamp’!”

 

“I have no weaknesses -- and your words are tiresome to me.”

 

The blue-skinned woman tilted her head slightly as she spoke, in a gesture that would have appeared curious, if not for the absolutely blank expression on her face. Without another word of explanation, without hesitation, her fist shot out and slammed into the vampire’s face, with enough force to send him sprawling against the wall twenty feet away.

 

Spike let out a low groan as his body fell to the floor, struggling wearily back to his feet -- and Illyria almost -- *almost* -- smiled.

 

“That noise is more pleasing to me than your meaningless speech sounds,” she informed him coolly.

 

“Well, that’s just too bloody bad,” Spike laughed darkly, giving her a smoldering look of fury as he stalked back toward her. “You’re going to have to get used to *not* hearing it, because I don’t have nearly so much soddin’ fun *making* those ‘noises’ as you seem to hearin’ ‘em!”

 

Her breathtaking, lightning fast kick to his chest expressed her opinion on the matter, and Spike found himself once again picking himself up off the floor several yards away from her, with a soft groan of pain at the repeated stress on his battered body.

 

“Why?”

 

His jaw momentarily clenched in anger as Spike made his way back toward her, forcing his own question out impatiently through gritted teeth. “Why what? Why don’t I like it? Maybe because it *bloody hurts*!”

 

The last two words were an outraged roar, right in her face -- but Illyria did not flinch, though her features shifted slightly into an expression of annoyance. That expression was all the warning Spike had before she had backhanded him, almost carelessly, but with enough strength to send him staggering backward.

 

“Your bellowing offends me,” she offered by way of explanation for the unprovoked blow, waiting while he caught his balance again, shaking his head to clear it, before clarifying her previous question, “Why do you make such sounds when I hurt you, if you do not want to make them? What meaning have your wordless noises?”

 

Spike blinked at her for a moment in silence, not sure whether his confusion was due more to the many blows he had taken to the head, or to Illyria’s strange questions. His eyes widened slightly as he realized that she would not possibly understand natural, involuntary actions -- not when she was accustomed to a realm in which she never did anything that she did not want to do.

 

“Well,” he began slowly, formulating his answer as he went along. “It’s not something I actually choose to do, rightly. It’s more of a -- an involuntary thing for humans -- and vampires -- and, well, pretty much all -- all…” His voice trailed off as he searched for a term to describe basically all species not hers.

 

“Lesser beings,” she supplied with clear disdain in her voice.

 

Scowling at her in annoyance, Spike slowly replied in a sarcastic tone, “Yeah -- if you wanna put it that way, Your Great Soddin’ Washed-up Has-Been-ness.”

 

“Washed up has been?” Illyria echoed, unfamiliar with the term.

 

On second consideration, Spike thought better of enlightening her as to its meaning. “Never mind.”

 

Illyria’s expression did not change, but something flashed in her eyes that looked dangerously like irritation -- before another stunning blow sent Spike flying again with a startled yelp of pain.

 

“It matters not why you make these sounds,” she concluded dismissively. “The sounds of your pain still amuse me, regardless of their source.”

 

“Is that right,” Spike glowered as he rose to his feet, his head lowered slightly as his vampire features came to the fore. With a snarl he lunged at her, growling out menacingly, “Let’s see how much soddin’ pleasure your screams of pain bring *me*!”

 

He never did find out.

 

Twenty minutes later, Illyria wandered out of the room where they had been sparring, in search of her human guide -- who had been more difficult to find than usual lately.

 

The half-breed had lasted longer than she had expected, but he had not succeeded in drawing from her the sort of sounds he had made.

 

In fact, he had not even succeeded in remaining conscious.

 

And, as he was silent when he was unconscious, Illyria soon found herself feeling a vague, restless sensation that Wesley had referred to as “boredom”.

 

She thought that the oddly unsettled, uncertain feeling would leave her, if only she could find Wesley and get him to advise her. She was not sure why being around him seemed to ease the strange, troublesome sensations she often felt these days -- probably because of the lingering traces of the emotions the shell had once felt for him.

 

And Wesley’s emotions for the shell were obviously still very powerful; Illyria had discovered that beyond all doubt after assuming the form of the shell for the benefit of her visiting parents. She had assumed that Wesley would appreciate the gesture, even be happy to be gifted with the image she had presented for a little while again.

 

But quite the opposite had proven to be true.

 

Whereas before she had assumed the guise of Winifred Burkle, Wesley had faithfully stayed at her side, willingly guiding her through the complexities of living in this world; now, he seemed to be avoiding her, giving her vague excuses in order to get away from her anytime she sought him out.

 

It was -- unsettling.

 

She found him in his office, as usual, surrounded by his books -- though he didn’t seem to be actually focusing on any of them. His eyes were directed downward toward the words in front of him, but they had a distant, thoughtful look in them that indicated his mind was far from the room he was physically in.

 

It was a drastic difference from the animated state he had been in before, constantly, eagerly seeking knowledge to share with her, to help her make her way in this world.

 

She sensed when he became aware of her presence -- and yet he did not look up, did not speak to her.

 

It made her feel -- angry. And -- and something else. Something she could not quite name.

 

But she did not like it.

 

“You have noted my entrance,” she stated in a voice of quiet, restrained outrage. “You are aware of my presence -- and yet you do not acknowledge me in any way.” There was an accusation in her words, demanding an immediate explanation.

 

The faint, wearily ironic smile that rose to the ex-Watcher’s lips only increased the unsettled sensation in Illyria’s stomach, as he drew in a vaguely impatient breath to respond, still without looking at her.

 

“Yes, well, occasionally when one is interrupted while they are busy, that may happen, Illyria. If I haven‘t anything to say, then it‘s quite likely that I won‘t speak at all.”

 

She stared at him for a long moment, intently, trying to discern the subtle implications of his tone, expression -- all the human subtleties with which she was so unfamiliar, so incapable of fully comprehending. What she did comprehend was extremely displeasing to her.

 

“You distance yourself from me,” she observed, hating the slight tremble she heard in her own voice, making her tone severe so as to make him believe it was from her anger. “You still harbor anger toward me for my attempts to help you appease the shell’s parents -- and you avoid me -- to punish me.”

 

“I am not attempting to punish you, Illyria,” Wesley argued quietly, in an overly patient voice, still not looking at her. “I am simply very busy at the moment.” Finally, he looked up at her, his piercing eyes solemn and severe as he reminded her pointedly, “You know, I *did* have a job -- responsibilities -- here, long before you -- arrived.”

 

Suddenly, Illyria had a revelation, comprehending his harsh tone, the displeasure in his eyes, and interpreting it -- and the revelation was accompanied by a dark, cold sensation of discomfort and displeasure that she could not quite put a name to, as she stated her conclusion in a voice of stunned dismay.

 

“My presence disturbs you. You wish me to leave.”

 

Wesley stared at her for a long moment, a slight frown creasing his brow, as he seemed to be in the midst of some inner debate. Finally, he looked back down at his book, absently turning a page, though he had not been reading, as he replied in a very soft, calm tone of voice.

 

“Yes -- it does. And yes – I do.”

 

Illyria felt that cold, uncomfortable sensation intensify, as she stared at him, her eyes narrowing with building anger. She considered, uncertain of how to react. In her own time, her own world, she would have destroyed this paltry human in an instant for his insolence, his arrogant dismissal of one so far his better. But even had she still had the power to do so, she somehow knew that she would not have done such a thing -- not to Wesley.

 

And that knowledge alone upset her further.

 

In the end, all she could do was to say in an unusually quiet voice, “I shall leave you to your work. I do not know why it matters -- but I do not wish to disturb you.”

 

Without waiting for his response, she turned and walked toward the door. As she stepped out into the hall, she heard Wesley’s heavy sigh behind her, and was aware that though her presence disturbed him, her leaving in such a manner seemed to bother him as well.

 

It was confusing -- troubling -- and utterly frustrating.

 

Suddenly, she wanted to return to the testing room and see if her vampire had awakened yet. She felt a strong desire to hit him again, to hear the sounds he made that brought her such pleasure -- to distract her from the troublesome feelings she could not understand, brought on by the disturbing encounter she had just had with Wesley.

 

As she made her way back toward the testing room, she found her attention drawn by a quiet sound, barely audible, but clear to her acute hearing, and she changed her course, heading toward the source of the sound. It had drawn her interest, because it was somewhat similar to the noises she so enjoyed that Spike made -- though it was -- different, in some way.

 

It did not seem to be a sound of pain, for one thing.

 

As she neared the source of the sound, she found herself near the front entrance of the office building, approaching the front desk from the hallway behind it. Seated in front of a computer behind the desk was a uniformed security guard, who at first glance appeared human -- but as she drew closer, she could sense that he was not a human, but a half-breed.

 

Well -- she could sense it -- and also, his face bore the evidence.

 

As the sounds became clearer -- soft whimpers and moans and pleading words -- Illyria found her eyes drawn to the colored light emanating from the computer screen in front of the guard. The screen was small, but her senses were sharp, and even from several yards away, Illyria could make out the forms on the screen of a human male and female, engaged in the act of coupling.

 

Her head tilted slightly as she watched it with rising interest, though she did not move or make a sound to betray her presence to the security guard.

 

Not that he would have easily noticed her.

 

He seemed more than a little -- distracted.

 

The sounds that the human male on the screen was making drew her attention, as she noted the similarities and differences to the sounds she had heard in her sparring sessions with Spike. In some ways they were the same; yet in others, not the same at all. The male did not seem to be in any pain, but rather experiencing the heights of physical pleasure.

 

A new curiosity came over her, and she found herself wondering once more about the complexities of communication between the members of the lesser breeds she had found herself among. It seemed that they rarely said what they meant -- and many times, they used no words for the things they tried to express. These meaningless groans, whimpers -- sounds similar to those she had enjoyed before -- were in response to the touch of another; and that was something that Illyria had a hard time understanding -- the inner workings of human -- or half-breed -- physical touch and pleasure.

 

But she meant to come to understand it.

 

Purposefully she turned in place, never making a sound, and strode back down the hall toward the testing chamber where she had left Spike -- leaving the oblivious security guard to his internet porn, unaware that he had been observed at all.

 

********************************

 

Spike groaned as he felt his senses returning, and gradually became aware of his surroundings again. He was lying on the floor of the large room where he had been testingIllyria, where she had knocked him with one final, powerful fist to his head.

 

*Testing her…yeah,* he thought with resentful disgust. *Bloody good job I’m doing, in’nit? Getting the unliving daylights kicked out of me by Miss High and Mighty Smurf…right wonderful job you’ve done with this one, mate…*

 

He leaned against the wall for a moment, breathing deeply, his eyes closed as he tried to regain his bearings. At least she had gotten bored for the moment and moved on to some other interest -- not that she had that many.

 

He opened his eyes -- and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw her standing mere inches away in front of him, her wide, unblinking eyes locked onto his with a curious glint.

 

“Bloody hell, Blue!” he exclaimed, jerking backward so hard that his head knocked into the wall behind him, and he winced. Clenching his jaw in irritation, he raised a hand to cup the back of his head, glaring at her resentfully. “Do you have to stand so bloody close? Give a bloke some space, yeah?”

 

She did not respond in any way, and she did not move back, either. When Spike realized that she had no intention of backing off, he froze, giving her a sharp, suspicious look, one eyebrow raised in question.

 

“Well? What is it, pet?” he asked a bit impatiently. “What’s with the up close and personal all of a sudden?”

 

“I have much I wish to learn.”

 

When she just stopped there, with no further clarification, Spike nodded slowly, taking her words in. “Well – yeah,” he acknowledged. “And you will, but…”

 

“I wish to learn from you.”

 

Spike’s eyes widened momentarily, before he looked away, sliding out from between Illyria and the wall and walking a few steps away, reaching for his cigarettes. She did not follow him, did not move from where she stood, except to turn her face toward him as he spoke.

 

“Isn’t that Percy’s job, pet?”

 

Illyria was quiet for a moment, before she stated flatly, “Wesley no longer desires to assist me. And there are things you can show me that he cannot.”

 

A smirk of suggestive amusement rose to Spike’s lips, and he chuckled softly as he replied, “Yeah, I’d wager that’s right. But I’d also wager that’s not what you’re talking about. What exactly did you have in mind?” He turned curious blue eyes toward her, as he raised his lit cigarette to his lips.

 

Without replying she walked past him to the door, then paused to stand in the doorway. “Come,” she ordered imperiously, and stepped out into the hallway without another word.

 

Spike hesitated for a moment, drawing in a deep drag on his cigarette, staring speculatively toward the empty doorway. Her commanding air was a bit of an irritation to him, and he did not have to follow her, he knew that. In fact, it would probably be a lot safer and less complicated if he followed Percy’s example and kept his distance from the strange creature.

 

But finally, his curiosity got the better of him, and he stepped out into the hallway.

 

Illyria had not stopped to wait for him, and was just turning the corner at the end of the hall. He rushed to catch up with her, falling into step with her just as she made another turn, taking them deeper into the center of the building.

 

“So where we going, Blue?” he asked her, eyeing her from beside her as he took another drag on his cigarette.

 

“Where we will not be disturbed,” Illyria replied simply. “I have many questions to which I must find the answers, and I tire of the constant interruptions of your peers.”

 

Spike let out a quiet huff of a laugh at that. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I tire of ‘em, too.”

 

She stopped outside the open door of an empty conference room, before walking through it and waiting for him to follow before she closed the door behind them. Spike glanced around the empty room, pulling himself up to sit on the edge of the large, gleaming wooden table that dominated the room.

 

He smirked as he ground out the stub of his cigarette against the polished wood, then tossed the butt down on the plush carpeting, turning his eyes speculatively to Illyria to ask, “So what do you wanna know, love? What questions have you got that you figure’ll take so much time and privacy?”

 

Illyria regarded him for a moment before responding in a calm, even voice, “I wish to learn more of the wordless sounds you make. I wish to discover more ways in which to manipulate your body to produce the noises that please me.”

 

Spike’s mouth dropped open in shock, and he slid slowly off the table, back to a wary standing position.

 

“Look, pet,” he said in a cautious voice, “I’m right exhausted already. If it’s sparring you’re after, it’s gonna have to wait. And you might pick a better place for it, too. There’s no bloody room in here…”

 

Before he could finish his comment, Illyria had moved with that unnatural speed of hers, and was standing directly in front of him, bare inches between their bodies, as her hand darted out to firmly grasp his slightly bulging denim-covered crotch.

 

A gasp of alarm turned into a slight moan of mingled pleasure and pain, as she squeezed slightly harder – and Illyria smiled, her next words filling Spike with a strange mixture of alarm and anticipation, as she spoke in a quiet voice of satisfaction, and curiosity.

 

“This interests me more than violence. We shall begin.”


	2. Chapter 2

Spike was having a hard time figuring out what had just happened.

 

One moment, he was idly sitting on the conference room table, preparing to answer whatever strange, abstract questions had made their way into Illyria’s strange, abstract mind…

 

And the next, he was bent over backwards across the table, one of her hands on his chest, and the other firmly grasping his suddenly eager manhood.

 

“Whoa, whoa, Blue!” he gasped out, with an effort pushing up against her hand until he was standing up straight again, one of his now-trembling hands reaching down between them to still hers -- though he was uncomfortably aware that he was not physically strong enough to stop her if she decided not to stop. “Wait just a bloody minute, here! What is this?”

 

Illyria’s eyes flashed with irritation as she stated sharply, “I told you. I wish to learn. I wish to learn of *you*. Your repetition wearies me.”

 

His eyes widened incredulously as Spike sputtered, shaking his head, trying to form words that wouldn’t seem to come, before he finally blurted out, “What is it exactly that you want to learn, pet? There are -- *other* ways, besides the soddin’ hands on approach…”

 

His words were cut off with a jerk as she impatiently pushed him down across the table again, one hand reaching to yank down the zipper of his jeans. He struggled briefly, reaching his hands up to stop her -- but she swiftly, easily, caught his wrists in her hands and held them over his head against the smooth wood of the table, looking into his eyes with a sort of clinical interest that was somehow -- amazingly -- arousing.

 

“I do not wish for you to struggle,” she stated imperiously, as if her wishing it should make it without question that it should happen. “I wish to hear the sounds of your pleasure, rather than your pain -- to compare and learn the differences between these -- sensations. Reactions.” She paused for a moment, her hands tightening on his wrists as she added, “Though I do not desire your pain, I can cause it if your resistance makes it necessary.”

 

Spike’s eyes widened at those words, and he swallowed hard in a mixture of fear and desire.

 

*Stupid wanker,* he derided himself. *Never could resist the strong ones…that’s why you spend so much time getting’ bloody pummeled by ‘em.*

 

Illyria did not wait for his response or decision, holding his wrists firmly over his head, pinned to the table, as her other hand yanked his jeans down around his knees, before returning to his rising erection with a strength in her grip that made him gasp in a mixture of pleasure and alarm.

 

Her head tilted to the side in a curious manner, as she squeezed slightly harder.

 

“Wait -- *wait*!” Spike yelped out the words in near panic, and her hand froze, as she looked at him, simply waiting. In that moment, Spike knew that if he outright refused to go along with this, she would most likely stop. After all, it was pleasure she was after, not suffering -- she had certainly seen enough of his reactions to suffering -- and surely even she knew that if he was not at least somewhat willing, she was not going to get very far.

 

The question was -- *was* he willing?

 

Moments of silence ticked by, as the former god-king waited for him to go on.

 

Finally, Spike broke the silence, his voice hoarse and his breathing shallow as he advised her softly, “Not -- not so very hard, Blue…we lesser beings damage a bit easier than you do, love…you’ve got to start off…start off slower…”

 

Even as he spoke the words, he cringed inwardly, realizing that he had all but given his permission at that point, his words implying that he was submitting to her desires, simply directing her as to how to be more effective -- and less bloody dangerous -- in going about fulfilling them.

 

“In this manner,” Illyria guessed, her tone a statement, though she was seeking his response, as her powerful hand gentled on his bare, vulnerable skin, encircling the base of his erection and pulling slowly toward her, removing her hand and repeating the gesture several times.

 

A low, desperate moan of pleasure was torn from the vampire’s lips, and his head fell back against the table, his breath coming faster as his doubts and reservations fell away, and he gasped out, “Yeah…yeah…*bloody hell*!…yeah, like that, pet…”

 

Instinctively his hands rose from the table, reaching for her and finding her sides, drawing her in closer to him -- until she suddenly released his erection and seized his wrists, slamming them painfully down against the table again. He flinched involuntarily, his body tensing at the very nearness of her, and at the blazing fury of her power he saw reflected in her fathomless eyes, as she glared down at him.

 

“You will not presume to touch me,” she declared in a dark, warning tone of voice that sent a shiver down his spine.

 

“Right,” he gasped out, nodding, his blue eyes wide and locked on hers, desperate to appease her in that moment -- though, to be honest, he wasn’t sure whether it was more to get her to ease her painful grip on his wrists, or to get her to resume her attentions to his swollen, aching manhood. “Right…sorry, love…no touching, got it…”

 

She did release his wrists, leaning back to stand straight and proud in front of him, glaring down at him with a sort of disdain -- not yet touching him again at all.

 

“You will not move. I will touch you -- explore your body -- discover what types of contact draw from you these sounds of pleasure -- but you will not touch me -- and you will not move.”

 

Spike knew that he should be angry, indignant, should resist her imperious, authoritative manner -- but somehow, he found that it only increased his arousal, his desire for her. His mind was insisting that he get up, then and there, refuse to go along with her little show and tell, and walk right out of the room.

 

His cock was insisting on something much different.

 

“Right,” he agreed readily, nodding against the table, his arms stretching upward until his hands could reach the edge of the table, and gripping it tightly, steeling his jaw as he added, “right…I won’t, pet…I won’t…”

 

Satisfied, Illyria returned her penetrating gaze to his fully erect, weeping member, and Spike felt his stomach drop at the intensity of her gaze, all focused on his most vital, vulnerable parts. Swiftly, in a movement so quick that it was barely visible, Illyria dropped to a crouch in front of him, her wide, staring eyes inches from his erection -- and Spike tried hard not to think about her mouth, almost as near.

 

No, there was no way she was going to be going there, he thought ruefully.

 

As her fingertips trailed slowly over the hard length of his erect organ, under and over and around, slowly exploring every piece of flesh she could touch, Spike found his hands clenching on the edge of the table, as he arched toward her touch, letting out a pleading, shuddering moan of desperation for more, stronger contact.

 

Illyria tilted her head up, studying his face as she repeated the same gestures, listening to the wordless sounds of pleasure and desire that he made. She then retraced her fingers up and down, around, her touch slightly harder, her face revealing her interest and curiosity when his moan became choked, desperate, almost frantic with urgency.

 

She watched his face closely as she closed her hand firmly around his body again, forming a loose fist, and he tensed slightly with mingled anticipation and apprehension, letting out a soft whimper that was a plea -- though whether it was for mercy, or for more of her touch, Illyria could not tell.

 

But it was not a sound of pain -- it was a pleasure sound, like the ones she had heard in the lobby.

 

She was pleased to find that the half-breed was so responsive to her touch, and she found herself enjoying the sense of power and pleasure that came over her, with each slight shift of her hand, or subtle change in pressure, that drew his moans and gasps and whimpers from him.

 

She could sense his pleasure building within him, felt his flesh beneath her hand grow firmer, fuller, as his body arched and his hands clenched at the wood beneath them in his desperate attempts to keep still against the powerful sensations she was creating within him.

 

She kept her intense gaze focused on his face, as she returned to softer, lighter touches, and the vampire growled in protest, raising his head off the table and turning smoldering eyes, glinting with flecks of gold, on her.

 

“Don’t…” he gasped out, “…don’t stop, love…harder…”

 

Illryia’s head rose in what would have been defiance in a lesser being, her jaw setting in a challenge, as she declared, “You will not presume to give me orders, half-breed. In your present condition your body is mine to command -- and I will handle it as I wish.”

 

With those words, she drew her fingernails lightly along the underside of his swollen manhood, and Spike yelped at the sudden, sharper contact, nearly jumping off the table, but just barely restraining himself. Illyria found herself increasingly fascinated by the fine line that seemed to exist for these creatures, between pleasure and pain -- the way that her harsher touches seemed to incite a greater need within the vampire.

 

She wished to understand it -- and began to feel frustrated that at the moment, he did not seem capable of enough speech to explain it to her.

 

She closed her hand in a tight fist around him again, drawing it slowly downward, while Spike shuddered and bucked against her hand, letting out a strangled cry of passion and need that did strange things to the body that Illyria was now housed in. She began to become aware of a building sense of pressure within her, an unsettled sort of sensation that she had never felt before.

 

In her tension and frustration, she tightened her grip slightly, at the same moment jerking her hand forward on Spike’s erection -- and with a hoarse cry of pleasure, the vampire arched up off the table, his sensitive organ trembling in her hand as it suddenly spurted a white, milky substance against the wall near the door.

 

As Spike collapsed against the table, gasping for breath, soft little whimpering breaths in the aftermath of his pleasure, Illyria gazed idly at the mess he had made, and observed that she was glad she had not been standing directly in front of him.

 

Turning her attention back to the vampire lying limply across the table, drawing in deep breaths as he stared at her through glassy, dazed eyes, Illyria reached toward his limp member again.

 

“N-no, *no*!” he stopped her, a tone of alarm in his voice, as one of his trembling hands released the edge of the table and reached down hastily to cover his exposed crotch. When she tilted her head at him in a silent question, he laughed softly, nervously, shaking his head as he said, “Can’t just go again just like that, pet. Need a bit of time.”

 

Illyria did not really understand, and she found that fact irritating -- but she meant to come to understand.

 

“How much time do you need before you can again feel pleasure?” she asked bluntly.

 

Spike stared at her in momentary disbelief. “Depends,” he answered vaguely, his common sense returning to him as the haze of pleasure faded from him. “ ‘S different, different times.”

 

“How do you know when you are once again able to participate in acts of coupling?” Illyria asked, once again in that flat, clinical tone that was vaguely unsettling, and strangely arousing.

 

Spike smiled at the words even as they came out of his mouth, as he explained to her the physiology of the matter, human arousal and erections and the physical evidences of desire. As he began to talk about it, in that same matter-of-fact, scientific sort of manner, he began to find himself responding physically again at the very words, and a strange sort of thought passed through his mind to explain his intense attraction to the strange creature intently listening to his explanations.

 

Illyria was both naïve, clueless virgin, and bold, commanding dominatrix in one exotic, enticing package.

 

And it was quite the package.

 

As he finished explaining to her, he noticed that her eyes were locked onto his groin again, and he suddenly remembered that his pants were still around his ankles. A bit self-consciously he laughed as he reached down to pull them up over the beginnings of the new erection he was developing -- and Illyria’s strong hand caught his wrist and stilled his hand.

 

“Your body is preparing itself for further physical pleasure,” she observed almost eagerly.

 

Spike felt his breathing quicken slightly at the desire in her eyes, as he gently tried to push her hand away. “Yeah, well -- little Spike doesn’t always know what’s best. The rest of my body is bloody well exhausted, and…”

 

His words of protest were cut off, as smoothly, easily, Illyria brought her other hand around in a fist to the back of his head, just hard enough to knock him completely, totally unconscious. She gazed down at him coolly for a moment, considering. She wanted to continue her research, and she had no intention of allowing him to refuse her, as he clearly intended to do.

 

She finished pulling Spike’s pants up, fastening them so as not to draw the attention of those they might pass in the hall, before easily lifting the unconscious vampire into her arms and heading out the door into the hallway.

 

She passed Angel, heading toward his office from the deeper part of the building, and the dark vampire did a double take, staring at her with wide, disbelieving eyes.

 

“Illyria -- what are you doing?” he asked, shaking his head, bewildered.

 

She looked at him blankly as she replied without hesitation, “I told you. I wish to keep Spike as my pet.”

 

They stood still in the hallway for a long moment, before Angel finally broke the standoff by shrugging casually. “Oh, okay,” he replied, before turning and heading off toward his office.

 

Unhindered, Illyria continued down the hall toward the living chambers near the center of the building, where she spent her nights.

 

She still had much to learn.


	3. Chapter 3

Spike slowly began to come around about ten minutes later -- but that was all the time Illyria had needed to prepare for her second lesson in the physical pleasure of lesser beings.

 

He opened his eyes, blinking a few times as he tried to figure out where he was. He was lying down, on a large, comfortable bed, in a dimly lit room that was lavishly furnished. He had never seen it before, however, and had no idea whose room it was. The last thing he remembered was being in the conference room, with…

 

*Illyria*!

 

He immediately tried to sit up -- and found to his dismay, but not surprise, that he could not. Glancing to either side, his sight confirmed that he was tightly bound to the bedposts, his wrists fastened firmly to the wrought iron with strong leather straps. A quick downward glance revealed that his legs were bound as well -- but that same glance also revealed something much more disturbing.

 

He was completely naked.

 

And what was worse, Little Spike did not seem nearly as troubled by the situation as the rest of him was.

 

“I have been waiting for you to awaken.”

 

Spike jumped in his bonds, turning his head toward the sound of Illyria’s voice, the first evidence he had seen that she was in the room with him -- well, besides the whole waking up tied to a bed thing. That was a fairly good clue, all things considered.

 

“Yeah,” he replied slowly, cautiously. “Seems you’ve been busy, love…”

 

“I have had more than enough time to prepare,” she dismissed his words, sounding bored -- which might or might not be a dangerous thing.

 

Spike had yet to find out.

 

“Yeah,” he said again, his voice carefully even and calm as he looked around the room for any signs of her “preparations”. “Prepare for what, exactly?”

 

“Further exploration of your body and its responses to various types of contact.”

 

The response was blunt, clinical, detached -- and somehow incredibly stimulating.

 

“And, ah…you felt the need to tie me down for it -- why, exactly? I thought I was being pretty bloody cooperative.” Spike swallowed hard, his throat suddenly feeling dry, as he tested the bonds at his wrists.

 

They held firm.

 

“I have learned that when in the throes of pleasure, you often are not in control of your own reactions,” Illyria explained flatly. “I do not wish to have you touch me. I do not wish you to move. And I do not wish for you to attempt to leave, until my curiosity is satisfied. The most logical way of preventing these things was to bind you in place until I am finished.”

 

“Right,” Spike replied, his eyes widening slightly at the way she was speaking about him, as if he was nothing more than an object on which she could experiment, something to use to satiate her own curiosity…

 

…and *why* was his soddin’ stupid cock responding to that idea so bloody well?

 

*Have some bleedin’ self-respect, you ponce!* he mentally berated it.

 

In spite of his own arousal -- and perhaps contributing to it -- Spike felt alarmingly exposed, vulnerable, painfully aware that there was no hiding his reaction to her dominating words, not in his naked, bound state.

 

In fact, she had already noticed it.

 

“This arrangement pleases you,” Illyria observed, no little surprise in her voice. “Your very helplessness excites you, and your body prepares itself for my attentions.”

 

“Yeah,” Spike admitted, deciding that it was pointless to try to convince her otherwise. “That’s about the size of it.”

 

The last word faded into a startled gasp, as she reached down without preamble to firmly grasp his rising erection, though not as frighteningly hard as she had grabbed it the first time. She slowly eased her grip, idly stroking her fingertips up and down the length of his sensitive shaft, his opaque eyes darting every few seconds between his erection and his eyes.

 

As Spike bit back a moan of mingled pleasure and need, his back arching toward her hand, Illyria’s head tilted with a sort of muted curiosity. She watched intently as his head fell back, his eyes closed, and a shallow, shuddering breath left his dead lungs.

 

“This pleases you,” she observed. “When I touch this part of you with my hand.”

 

“Yeah,” Spike gasped, his hands pulling uselessly against his bonds without really meaning to. “Yeah, it -- bloody well does…” He couldn’t hold back a whimper of protest, as she suddenly removed her hand altogether, regarding him with a cool interest, and her next words sent a shiver of anticipation through him.

 

“But there are other ways to bring your body pleasure.”

 

Spike froze, feeling his stomach do an odd little flip as she moved to stand directly between his ankles at the foot of the bed, her curious eyes narrowing thoughtfully as her head tilted slightly to the side.

 

“Uh -- yeah,” he agreed cautiously with a nod. “There are…” He was the one who was curious now, as he couldn’t help asking, “…but…how do you know about this, Blue?”

 

“I have seen it.”

 

The answer was simple, and yet very confusing to Spike. He couldn’t decide whether it was alarming or hilarious, the thought of some unsuspecting couple of Wolfram and Hart employees, carrying on in an empty office or supply closet or something, completely unaware that they were being watched by the strangely curious former god-king.

 

“Oh,” he remarked simply, not sure what else to say. “Well, all right, then…”

 

“Women of your species use their mouths to touch the reproductive organs of males of your species -- does this bring greater pleasure to your body than when I do this?”Illyria asked in an emotionless voice, as her hand reached out to grasp his erection again, squeezing the base and slowly sliding her hand downward.

 

Spike couldn’t answer immediately; the only response he could manage was an unintelligible cry of first fear and mild pain, and then delirious pleasure. The pleasure was short-lived, however, as her firm hand suddenly stilled near the head of his swollen member, gripping it just slightly harder than was comfortable.

 

“I wish for you to answer,” she stated, watching him intently, expectantly.

 

Spike got the impression that she was not really trying to be threatening or cruel; she simply refused to do anything more until she got the answer she required. She had no idea of the nearly unbearable sensation of mingled pleasure and pain that her restricting hand was causing him.

 

“Ahh…*gah*…” Spike struggled to formulate the words to tell her, around the strangled, pleading moan that rose in his throat. Finally he managed to gasp out, “Don‘t…I…I can’t…”

 

Illyria frowned slightly, confused, as she glanced between the vampire’s intense reaction, and her hand on his member, and finally made the connection. Still, she did not remove her hand for a moment longer, her curiosity taking precedence over Spike’s dilemma.

 

“This brings you pleasure at times, and pain at other times. This is a senseless and confusing enigma to me.”

 

“P-please…” Spike gasped out in breathless desperation, struggling uselessly against the leather at his wrists and ankles. “Blue…stop…”

 

Immediately, Illyria released her grip on his throbbing member, staring down at him impassively as he gradually recovered. When it seemed that he was capable of speech again, she stated firmly, “I wish for you to explain this mystery.”

 

“Wha-what?” Spike’s voice sounded a little groggy, as he looked up at her through glassy, dazed eyes. “What’s that again, love? Sorta missed your point, I’m afraid…”

 

“In the conference room, you pleaded for that same touch,” Illyria explained calmly, a curious gleam in her dark eyes. “Your body craved it and sought it. Now, you wished me to stop.”

 

“Well,” Spike began, trying to think of the best way to explain something so beyond words, in a way that she could understand, “it’s just -- our bodies are very sensitive -- to pleasure *and* to pain. Yeah, I craved it, wanted you to touch me -- feels bloody good, love. But when you just -- hold it out like that, without going on -- well, a bloke can’t take it for long…”

 

“It ceases to bring pleasure and causes pain,” Illyria concluded.

 

“Well -- yeah,” Spike conceded, though there was a guarded, almost reluctant sound to his voice, as if he wasn’t quite sure the answer was complete.

 

Illyria did not miss it. “Why do you hesitate in your answer?” she asked bluntly.

 

“Well,” Spike began slowly, searching for the right words. “The human body’s a funny thing, love. Sometimes pain -- isn’t exactly bad. Sometimes pain and pleasure are almost the same thing.”

 

Illyria was quiet for a moment, taking that in, before frowning in irritation.

 

“This is senseless and frustrating to me. Pain by its very definition is a negative experience. It cannot be pleasurable.”

 

Spike laughed softly, a low, dark sound that a human woman would have found seductive. Illyria, however – well, Spike was not quite sure that it was possible to seduce *her*. He shook his head as he corrected her in a tone of amusement, “That’s…not quite always true…”

 

When she tilted her head in that curious way, however, an odd light in her strange, fathomless eyes, Spike felt his stomach drop, and suddenly realized that he had quite possibly made a huge mistake. When she spoke again, her words confirmed that idea.

 

“I wish to explore this concept further.”

 

Spike thought of her incredible strength that had spent the last couple of weeks tossing him into walls, thought of her complete lack of understanding of the physical limitations of “lesser beings” – and was suddenly very sure that that was a very bad idea.

 

“Eh, Pet,” he began cautiously, “that’s probably a bad….gaaahh…”

 

His words trailed off into a groan as she seized his needy member again in a grip that was right on the line between pleasure and pain.

 

“There is no reason for you to be afraid,” Illyria stated calmly, as she pulled at him with enough strength to make his back arch again, to make him thrust upward toward her in a wordless request for more. “I remember. You break easily.”

 

Well -- *that* was a relief.

 

She began to alternate vigorous squeezes and little tight twisting motions with her hand, swiftly driving him to an insane frenzy of need, and somehow managing, even for all her lack of experience, to keep her touches from becoming hard enough to stop being pleasurable for Spike.

 

Though there *was* a certain amount of pain involved.

 

Especially when, just short of his climax – she stopped again.

 

“Wh-what are you doing?” he moaned out, his voice slightly slurred and nearly delirious with pleasure and need. “Don’t stop…don’t stop yet…”

 

“I am bored with the use of my hand. I want to learn something else. Shall I practice with my mouth?”

 

Spike nearly came right then.

 

“Please,” he consented eagerly in a voice that came out as barely more than a whimper.

 

He was surprised when she moved around to the top of the bed and loosened the leather bonds at his wrists, lengthening the part connected to the bedposts so that he had a good couple of feet of slack. Then, she moved to the foot of the bed again – and Spike let out a startled yelp when she grabbed first one ankle, and then the other, and raised them high, attaching his ankles tightly to the top of the bedposts instead of the base of them – and consequently lifting his exposed groin to a level near that of Illyria’s head.

 

The resulting position made Spike feel more than a little uncomfortable, not to mention apprehensive.

 

“What – what are you doing?” he asked, a slight quaver in his voice, as he found himself testing his bonds, which proved to be as taut and unyielding as ever.

 

With an expression on her face that she had most likely learned from him, Illyria raised a single brow, as she replied, “Surely you did not expect that I would kneel in your presence, half-breed.”

 

“No, pet,” Spike sighed shakily, laying his head back and rolling his eyes as understanding hit him. “No, didn’t rightly expect you to kneel *ever*.”

 

“This is as it should be,” Illyria stated, nodding once to express her satisfaction, before taking his weeping erection in her hand again.

 

Spike tensed as she brought her mouth closer, and he could feel the heat of her breath against his flushed, highly sensitized skin. He was both terrified, that she might not know her own strength, might not know to be careful – and thrilled with anticipation of having that hot mouth wrapped around him, consuming him with her soft heat.

 

He let out a rather high, not-particularly-manly sound, as he felt her bottom teeth scrape lightly across the underside of his member, but that sound swiftly melted into a moan of pleasure, as she closed her lips around him and sucked hard, quickly drawing him to a completion that was already mere moments away.

 

The discomfort of his awkward position was completely forgotten, as he came in her mouth, and she drew back, swallowing his spendings rather than turning to spit them out.

 

Of course, Illyria thought nothing of doing so. To her, it was all part of the learning experience.

 

As she replaced his bonds in their original position, Spike didn’t move – probably couldn’t have if he’d tried, his body limp and sated from her surprisingly talented attentions. Considering that this was her first time doing such things, she had been absolutely incredible.

 

“Love,” he whispered as she adjusted the bonds at his wrists, pulling him up higher on the bed again. “What about – what about you?”

 

She stood back, tilting her head at him again with a curious look. “What about me?” she asked, not understanding the question.

 

“Your – your pleasure,” he clarified softly. “You’ve – you’ve done a bloody number on *me* -- and I’ve bloody well enjoyed it, pet – but what about your enjoyment?”

 

“My goal was not your pleasure,” Illyria bluntly informed him, her expression blank and unconcerned. “My goal was the knowledge of what causes your pleasure. Your pleasure was merely a pleasant byproduct of my experimentation.”

 

Spike grinned up at her as he felt his body beginning to recover its strength in the wake of the powerful sensations she had created in him. “Right,” he agreed with a slow nod. “Got that, pet. But – surely you don’t think you’ve learned all there is to know – do you?”

 

Illyria frowned, puzzled and irritated. “Of what do you speak?”

 

“Well – the people you saw – surely they did more than – than what we’ve done – right?”

 

Illyria’s frown deepened as she replied, “I have seen nothing else of human coupling. I do not understand.”

 

“Oh,” Spike shook his head, his words coming out as a low growl of desire and anticipation, his tongue flicking out over his teeth in a suggestively teasing gesture, “you’ve still got a bloody lot to learn, love!”

 

Illyria glared at him, indignation rising.

 

“I wish to know of what you speak. I wish to understand the entirety of human pleasure.”

 

“Well, let me up,” Spike suggested softly, his eyes glittering with wicked amusement, “and I’ll teach you.”

 

Illyria stared at him for a long moment. “If I let you up,” she pointed out, “you may attempt to flee.”

 

“Illyria,” Spike reassured her, shaking his head, “I swear to you on my bloody unlife, right now there’s no place I’d rather be.”

 

Illyria studied his expression for a long moment, as if trying to gauge whether or not he was telling the truth – and then decided that it didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t stronger, faster, and generally superior to her new pet. If he *did* try to flee, she could easily catch him. And even if that was not the case, her curiosity refused to rest until she knew what she was missing, what pleasures he spoke of that her now partially human form could experience.

 

She reached for the leather straps at his wrists and ankles, setting him free.

 

She still had much to learn.


End file.
